


Hold My Heart In A Fist

by FranceBe4Pants



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Coffee Shops, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Deserves Nice Things, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Pining, Poor Erik, Poor Life Choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:59:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranceBe4Pants/pseuds/FranceBe4Pants
Summary: “Let me get this clear; You told your sister you have a boyfriend, but you’re single?”Charles drops his head on the table. “I’m so fucked. It’s not like I can ask someone to pretend to be my boyfriend for the next two weeks.” Erik stomps on a voice inside that asks him if he’s a masochist, a voice that sounds remarkably like Emma, and clears his throat.“That might actually work.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so Erik deserves Nice Things and this is the fic where I give them to him. Title taken from Finally by James Arthur.

Erik is busy trying to understand the design of his last experiment when someone touches his shoulder. The touch is soft, tentative. He looks up into a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but is it alright if I sit here? The rest of the tables are all taken.”

He looks around and sees, yes, that is in fact, true. He carefully builds a pile out of some of the papers that are surrounding him.  “Sure.”

“Thanks,” the guy says. He has brown hair that falls over his forehead in waves. An atrocious tweed jacket with yellow elbow pads. Enormous stack of books. A student, then. He goes back to staring at his notebook. Opposite of him, he can hear pages rustling. A pen scribbles on paper. Sometimes, a soft hum. Around them, people are chatting. The November weather outside is friendly today. Crisp, cold, coloured. The city feels calm around him. 

For some reason beyond him, he feels like talking. “What are you majoring in?” he asks Blue Eyes. A book closes. The pen drops. Then; “Biology. You?”

“Physics.”

“Oh.” The book opens again. “My name is Charles, by the way.”

He drops his pen, too. “Erik.”

The lighting flickers. Suddenly, Charles gets up. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Coffee, please.”

Charles returns with two steaming mugs. They study together for a while, even though the rush around them gradually subsides. Erik finds that he doesn’t mind Charles’ little sounds breaking through his concentration.  He just empties his mug when a chair scrapes back over the floor. “I have to go,” Charles says, almost apologetic. Erik catches disappointment blooming in his chest. Which is strange, considering the fact he doesn’t really do _social._ He should be happy that Charles is finally leaving.

He isn’t.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “See you around, I guess.” Charles smiles at him. It’s a very nice smile, making his blue eyes warm and his face soft. “I guess.”

Logan, who’s probably been spying on him since the beginning of the afternoon, laughs from his place behind the counter. “What was that all about, Lehnsherr?”

“None of your business,” Erik grunts in response. “Just get me another espresso.”

The next day, Charles is there again. Or rather, a stack of books mumbles “Can I sit here again?” Erik nods. Stomps down on a smile. The elbow patches are blue this time.

Today, Erik is the one that gets them drinks. Tea, Charles likes tea, apparently. When he places the steaming cups on the table, Charles’s eyes crinkle. Erik forgets to breathe. It occurs to him he’s staring and he quickly goes to unpack his books. The next hours are filled with tea and rustling paper. Pages turn. Sometimes, one of them taps on a calculator. Logan is washing cups behind Charles, waggles his eyebrows at Erik from time to time. Erik just rolls his eyes.

Around the third day in their little arrangement, two things happen. It rains and Charles starts to talk. Not to Erik, not to anyone in particular. More thinking out loud than talking. He mutters about DNA and natural habitats. He mumbles about evolution and adaption. He sighs words like “environmental changes” and “quantitative methods” and swears quietly at his laptop. Erik finds he doesn’t mind as much as he should. Charles’ voice fills the silence in a way that doesn’t feel forced, awkward, stilted. More like a natural progression than anything. He’s content just listening.

Outside, the rain taps against the glass. Erik’s coat drips on the floor. Charles looks positively soaked, judging by his hair. An umbrella rests against his chair, but he probably used that to protect the books inside his bag. Which appears to be the only thing he’s carrying that are dry. Tea, then?” Erik asks, trying not to show his concern. God, he’s sure the boy is going catch a cold.  

"Tea, then?” Erik asks, trying not to show his concern. God, he’s sure the boy is going catch a cold.  

Charles shivers in the warm light of the coffee shop. “Please,” he says. “I was hoping I’d make it before the pour, but-” The rest of the sentence is cut off by the violent clattering of his teeth. Before Erik realises what he’s doing, he strips off his sweater and hands it to Charles.

“No, no Erik, that won’t be necessary,” he protests, with one arm already through a sleeve. “Now you’re the one that is cold.”

Erik can’t stop his smile from spreading. “Yeah, well, I don’t look like someone tried to drown me in the North Sea.” He’s already on his way to Logan when he hears a soft “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Logan looks up from _The Rolling Stone._ “More coffee?” Erik scratches a hand through the hair on his nape. Logan’s eyes soften. “Tea.” He nods.

He nods.

“You gave him your sweater,” Logan says while he fills the kettle. Erik shrugs. “He’s wet. Cold.” Logan turns to him. “You gave him your three hundred dollar mohair knit sweater, the one Emma gave to you for your twentieth birthday because he was cold. Tell me, is he _that_ pretty?”

Erik splutters. “I didn’t give it to him because he’s pretty!” Logan snorts. “And my ass is made of candy. Here’s your tea.” Erik leans over to grab the cups from the counter.

“Lehnsherr?”

“Yes?”

“You hate tea. He’s really _that_ pretty.”

“I don’t hate tea,” Erik bristles. “I just prefer coffee.”

Logan smirks. “You said, and I quote; ‘It tastes like leaves. Disgusting leaves.’”

Erik looks down at the cups in his hands and snarls. “He can’t ever know.”

Logan’s laughter follows him to the table. “What’s so funny?” Charles asks while taking the mug from him. Erik goes back to his textbook. “Nothing,” he grumbles. “Drink your tea.”  

He watches the world outside. The sky softly changing into the rose-gold of another impending sunset. The leaves, falling. The rain has stopped, the water on the pavement lies content, covering concrete. Inside, Charles is breathing across the table. Here, he feels at ease. The laws of physics are at his fingertips, the world around him shapes and forms and Charles is here, somehow completing the picture. It’s only the third day of knowing him. He wonders how the other days will be.

The fourth day, Charles brings him cookies and carefully coaxes a conversation about magnetism out of Erik. He loses himself in words for the first time. Watches blue eyes sparkle with genuine interest. Feels his throat go dry with sentences. He takes a sip out of his green mug. Almost spits it out in surprise. “Coffee?”

Charles blushes, avoids his eyes. “I heard someone say you don’t like tea.”

Oh. “I don’t dislike it. Just like coffee better.” He doesn’t know where to look. At Charles? At the ceiling? At his magnet-covered binder?

Charles wins. He ends up staring at amused blue eyes. “You could’ve said, my friend.” _Friend,_ Erik thinks. He called him his friend. He doesn’t know if he should hug him or cry. “Like I said, I don’t mind it.”

On the fifth day, Erik is late. When he storms into the café, coffee is already waiting for him. Today, the elbow patches are a deep green and there are less books than Erik remembers. They smile at each other. Erik works on his lab report. When they leave, he stops in front of the door. “Tomorrow?”

“Same time, same place.” Charles smiles. “Don’t be late.”

                                                                                                               ~

After the fifteenth day, Erik swears he’s going crazy. “It’s not fair,” he moans into the couch cushions. They’re friendly, supporting him through the mess inside his head.

Emma pats his back. “You have a gigantic boner for him. Just bang and get it out of your system.” Erik lifts his head from the couch to glare at him. “I’m not banging anyone. Besides, he’s under the impression we’re friends.”

Emma winces. “Ouch.”

He drops his head back in soft white fabric. It’s a white couch, against a white wall, on a white floor, surrounded by other white furniture. White coffee table. White bookshelves. Sometimes he regrets letting Emma decorate the living room. The only drop of colour right now is Erik. He feels like a stain.

She strokes her fingers through his hair. “I heard you’re drinking tea with him.” Erik pushes his head against her hand. “Howlett’s been talking, then. Little bitch.”

“He thought it was cute.”

“The only thing we do is study. Most of the time, we don’t even talk to each other. What’s cute about that?” Erik rolls around so he can look at her face. It’s smiling, which is never a good sign. “You gave him your sweater.”

“He looked like a drowned rat, for God’s sake. I do have a heart.”  

Emma snorts. “Oh sugar, you really don’t. That’s why we get along so well.” Erik stares at light reflecting off one of the white pillows. The silence stretches, on and on. Above him, Emma gasps. “You actually like him?” He frowns. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

Emma is too busy with processing the idea of him liking another human being to answer him. "You mean- How is that even possible? You. Hate. _Everything_."

“I don’t hate everything!”

Emma lifts one perfect, blond eyebrow. “Name three things you don’t hate.”

“Physics. Coffee.” He stops. Coffee reminds him of blue eyes, pale skin, coloured elbow patches. Laughing behind stacks of books. Earl Gray and soft music.

“Oh my god, you’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Erik nods, lost in thought. Emma makes an exasperated noise. Snorts. “Well then. I guess we’ll just have to deal with this.”

‘Deal with this’ apparently means getting spectacularly drunk on bourbon. The rain falls hard against the glass, but inside there are candles and liquor and Emma. He’s back on the couch, feet hanging off the side. Takes a swing straight from the bottle.

Janos and Azazel manifest out of the darkness and join them on the couch. Janos takes the bottle from him. Stares at the label, shrugs and takes a long drink. Winces and passes it to Emma, who doesn’t blink at the taste of cheap alcohol.

“I’m guessing we’re finally talking about Erik’s crush, then,” Azazel says from where he’s filing his nails with a pocket knife.

They’re all crammed together, shoulder by shoulder. Erik’s head is on Janos’ lap. Azazel has both Emma’s and Janos’ feet piled on him and manages to grab a flask from somewhere.

There are hands in his hair. Fingers tapping on his feet. Whispers in his ear. The buzz inside him warms him all over and he grins. “He’s amazing,” his voice is lazy with both intoxication and affection. “He’s got this blue eyes and doesn’t mind that I don’t talk.”

Emma sighs. “Sugar, we don’t mind your silence, too.” He waves with the bottle. “I know, but you’re my friends. It’s like, mandatory for you guys.” Janos breathes, slow, deep. Takes a sip from Azazel’s flask. “He sounds nice. Are you gonna make a move?”

Erik falls off the couch. “No!”

Strong arms haul him up. Red tattoos. Black hair. Whiskey and leather. Azazel stares at him, dark eyebrows raised. “Whoa, brother. Calm down.”

He catches the way Emma’s pale eyes reflect the rain outside. Stretches so he can reach her arm. “He thinks we’re friends,” he mumbles. There are butterflies curving around his spine. He thinks of storms, rivers, seas. Blue. The whiskey burns a way to his stomach and he suddenly clenches his hands around both Azazel and Emma, the opposite ends of the sofa, of his small world right now.

“What am I gonna do? I don’t know how to do...this. Feelings.” He takes a deep breathe in. His whole frame shakes when he releases them. Covers his face instead. “I was just there, and he decided to sit next to me and now _I can’t breathe_ -” Three pairs of hands hold him. Three different exhales ghost over him.

“Calm down,” Azazel rumbles. “You’re officially experiencing life, right now. Don’t worry, you learn how to handle it soon enough.”

Emma is stroking his hair, again. “Breathe, sugar. In. Out. With us, c’mon.”

Janos doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes Erik’s ankles and somehow that grounds his drunken mind more than all the words in the whole English language.

Emma passes the bottle back at him. “No one’s forcing you to do anything.” She smoothes her hands over his hair. “We just really want to see you happy.” Janos makes a sound. Agrees, apparently. Squeezes his elbow. “Being scared is normal.” Erik inhales the bourbon like it’s oxygen. “Just, people. Complicated,” he says, after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Azazel plucks the bottle from him. “God knows you deserve some happiness,” he grunts.

They fall asleep like that. Tangled together. Coated in alcohol and quiet hopes. Fear. Encouragement.

When he wakes up, the smell of pancakes fills their apartment. Neon lights outside dance in the darkness. The wind soars around the building. He feels safe. Sheltered.

His friends look at him when he enters the kitchen. Making a beeline for the coffee maker, he tries to ignore the stares prickling at the back of his neck. They won’t talk about last night. He doesn’t want to deal with all the shit swirling inside him right now. He just wants coffee.

Emma takes his trembling hand. Fills it with a mug. Excellent.

After breakfast, a shower and fresh clothes, he feels more and more like himself again. “Slammed your walls back up, I see?” Emma was never one to beat around the bush. Heartless is just another word for merciless honesty. He grins at her, all teeth and malicious intent, in lieu of answering. “Ready to face the world, _hermano_?” Janos is combing his hair in the bathroom. Erik turns to him.

“The sharky serial killer grin says it all,” Azazel says from where he’s perched on the table. “Now, shoo. Go scare some neighbourhood pets.”

                                                                                                                      ~

The twenty-third day of drinking coffee with Charles starts with a crying barista.

Erik really, really didn’t mean to.  

Logan glares at him and puts his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Kitty. C’mon, it’s alright.”

He snaps his fingers to a staring blond teenager. “Summers, take over her shift. Let’s go, Pryde. I’ve got some hot chocolate for you in the back.” Erik stares at the broken cup. Yes, she dropped it. Yes, she soaked his notes. Yes, he might have snapped a little bit. He didn’t expect her to _cry_.

Someone puts a hand on his elbow. Charles. “It’s not your day today, is it, Erik?” he says, soft. Understanding.

Erik blinks. “No,” he mumbles while scraping his notebook off the counter. Charles pats him on the shoulder and orders their usual from the blond guy. He’s glaring. Erik can’t blame him. When they sit down at their table -they have a table now, this is getting out of hand- Charles is pulling on the sleeves of his cardigan. No elbow pieces this time. There are more books on the table than last time. Outside, leaves fall. Dance on the wind.  “What’s wrong?” Erik asks.

Charles rakes a hand through his hair. “My sister is coming to town.”

Erik starts to unpack his books. “Nice.” He’s busy with focusing on finding the right page in _Physics For Scientists and Engineers_ when Charles sighs.

“I may have told her I have a boyfriend.”

Erik drops the book. “Oh.”

Charles plays with his pencil. “I know. I don’t even know why I said it! Just, she always tries to set me up with some poor soul and I’m sick of it.”

Erik starts flipping through pages again. Feels a little bit like laughing. Relieved. “Let me get this clear; You told your sister you have a boyfriend, but you’re single?”

Charles drops his head on the table. “I’m so fucked. It’s not like I can ask someone to pretend to be my boyfriend for the next two weeks.” Erik stomps on a voice inside that asks him if he’s a masochist, a voice that sounds remarkably like Emma, and clears his throat.

“That might actually work.”

Charles slowly lifts his head from the table. “Erik, are you- are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

Is he doing this? Yes, yes he is. He smoothes one hand over his notebook. Avoids Charles’ eyes. “It’d be easy. No one knows me.”

Blue eyes sparkle. Erik’s heart climbs. Charles rakes one last hand through his hair before smiling. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Erik smiles, crooked. “It might help me, too. My friends seem to think I’m some kind of hermit.”

“Well, you are.”

“Shut up.”

Charles laughs. “Alright, boyfriend.” Erik’s breath stutters. Lungs contract. Muscles freeze. He’s unable to look away from bright eyes and pale skin. _Boyfriend._

Charles twirls a pen between his fingers. They’re long, nimble. Elegant. Erik shakes his head and grabs a pen, too. Opens a new notebook. “So, how did we meet?” he asks, praying his voice sounds casual. Cool. Calm. Collected.

“How about here?” Charles gestures around, at the walls of the coffee shop. “The closer we stay to the truth, the easier this will be.” Erik scribbles down ‘met in coffee shop’ and nods. He will treat this as another experiment. “How long are we, eh, dating? Are we still one of those annoying, clingy couples or are we more comfortable around each other?”

Charles rolls his pen over the table. “I told Raven I had a boyfriend about three weeks ago, so, a month? Are we still annoying, then?”

Erik grins. “Yes.” He writes ‘a month’ and tries not to stare at Charles’ hands. “What do I call you?”

“What about my name?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, idiot. Babe, darling, sweetheart, pumpkin pie.” Charles grins. “I call dibs on darling. For the rest, just do what feels natural.”

Natural. Would it feel natural to wrap his arm around Charles, to call him _sweetheart_ , hide a laugh in his neck, to kiss the top of his head instead of saying goodbye? God, he must be really into masochism. This already feels like waterboarding in the ocean, even though they haven’t started yet.

“What do we fight about?”

Erik chews on his pen. “I’m rude. You’re messy. You like loud music and hate my smoking.”  Charles hums. “Seems about right. I, uh, never cook. You leave your coat on the sofa.” Erik smiles. “I always forget to leave a tip. You leave your books everywhere.” They bounce ideas back and forth for a while, laughing, teasing until they find a good enough idea of their relationship. Charles adds his phone number to his contacts. Then, he hoists Erik’s arm over his shoulder, smiles. Takes a selfie of the two of them.

He stares at the photo. Charles has his head on his shoulder, face tucked away against his chest. Erik is grinning, the grin he hates, the one that shows too many teeth and raw amusement. They look happy. They look like a couple.

Erik takes a photo of Charles grinning behind a stack of books. Charles snaps a picture of him drinking coffee. Erik has an image of Charles ducking beneath the table. He immediately makes it his background. Three minutes later, Charles has a photo of Erik’s frown as his wallpaper. Then he looks at the time. Swears. Pushes all the books in his bag and kisses Erik’s hair. “Bye, darling,” he says, unaware of Erik’s utter stillness. “I’ll text you.”

The door slams shut behind him and Erik is left behind. “What did I just witness?” Logan lowers himself in the chair next to him. 

Erik looks at his books. They stare back. Judging.  “I think I made a mistake,” he says quietly.

                                                                                                                           ~

A week later, blue eyes examine him from across his pasta.

“So, you’re dating my brother.”

Erik tries not to shift under her gaze. “Yes,” he answers while watching Charles from the corner of his eye. Raven hums and stabs a fork into her pasta. She doesn’t take her eyes off him. “Raven, do we really have to do the whole intimidation thing?” sighs Charles. He makes an apologetic face at Erik.

She waves her fork through the air. “As your younger sister, I’m afraid I’ll have to say yes.” Chewing on her pasta, she studies him. “I didn’t know you were into the whole teeth-and-leather thing, bro.” Charles promptly chokes. Erik squeezes his thigh under the table. Charles chokes some more.

“How long have you been dating, again?”

“A month,” answers Erik. “But, uh, we’ve been...circling around each other for a while.” Charles stares at him, blue eyes wide. What, is improvisation not good? Maybe he should’ve talked this through beforehand.

Raven coos. “So cute.” She takes a sip of wine. Her eyes haven’t left Erik yet. “What are you majoring in? Are you majoring in something? Wait, how old are you?” Erik makes a face. How old does he _look_?

“Physics, and twenty-six.” Raven exhales, relieved.

“Erik works in a bakery,” Charles says, “and he likes my cat.” Erik hates cats, and Remy’s place can’t really be called bakery. Maybe a casino where people occasionally bake. Whatever, he can be Charles’ cat-loving, baking boyfriend,

“Charles, are you trying to make him less scary? Because nothing short of a truck full of Care Bears will make that happen.” She squints. “Have you ever committed a felony?”

"No," Erik grunts, a little too slowly, thinking about Emma’s ex-boyfriend. What an asshole. The things he used to do to her still make his blood boil. The way Emma would come home...He’s glad they broke up. Every bad day reminds him of the way he broke her, deep inside.

Raven frowns a little. Charles, his _boyfriend,_ frowns a lot. “Leave him alone.”

She goes back to her pasta. “I’m just looking out for you.” Erik hearts clenches at her words. For some reason, she reminds him a little bit of Emma. A less white, less terrifying, less cold version of Emma. “Tell me a little bit about your life?” He didn’t mean that to come out as a question. That is not how normal people phrase a question. Raven looks up from her plate, eyes wide.

“I’m studying political science. My second year.”  Ah, she has Opinions. Erik approves. She places her fork on the edge of her plate. “I live with a girl called Jean, she’s the sweetest thing really.” While she goes off into a story, something about a frat and Erik can see Charles’ eye twitch at the word ‘beer keg’, Erik lets his hand travel under the table. When he grabs Charles’ hand, he hears a soft inhale next to him, but the hand squeezes his firmly back. This is what boyfriends do, right? Support each other. Raven looks at them, one eye closed, head tilted to the side. Charles quickly untangles his fingers and stands up. Erik flexes his hand under the table and looks at the candlelight flickering off Raven’s blue top.

“So, who wants dessert?” A hand snatches his still half-full plate away. “I got tiramisu from the Italian place you like so much.” Charles smiles at his sister and suddenly Erik feels like he’s interrupting something. A family moment. God knows how long it’s been since these two had the opportunity to see each other. Weeks. Months. Erik’s heart aches at the thought of missing his mother for more than two weeks.

He stands up. “I think I’m gonna head out.” Charles looks at him from behind Raven, mouthing ‘no, no, no’ but Erik shakes his head, resolute. “You catch up with each other.” He winks at Raven, who looks pleased. He puts a hand on her shoulder, surprising himself with the move. He’s usually not one for physical contact. “Take care of him.”

She snorts. “What do you think I’ve been doing my whole life?”

He smirks. “I reckoned something like that already.” His arm winds itself around Charles’ shoulder. Pulls him close. “This one forgets to feeds himself most of the time.” It’s only a guess, but a correct one, judging by Raven’s loud laugh.

“I’ll walk you out,” Charles says and somehow it feels like something exciting. Erik’s skin prickles under the hand on his elbow until they’re standing in the narrow hallway.

“That went well,” Erik says. “Sorry for the improvisation. I should’ve-”

Charles rakes a hand through his hair. It stands up in three different directions. “No, no. It was good, natural. The..touching.” He worries the edge of his plaid jacket between his fingers. “Text me tonight if she says something,” Erik says. He removes a piece of tomato from Charles’ shoulder. Somewhere above, an airplane rumbles over them. He looks at blue eyes one last time. Leaves before he does something stupid.

                                                                                                                    ~

**Raven approves**

The text wakes him up. It’s six twenty-seven in the morning and he’s smiling down at his phone. He pulls the blanket tighter around him. Sighs. Smiles.

**_Good_ **

His thumb hovers over the screen for a few seconds. He sits up and knows he’s not going to be able to sleep again.

The house is full of life already. Emma glares at him when he marches towards the coffee maker. “We know you’re a morning person, sugar, but there’s no need to rub it in everybody’s faces like that.”

Erik turns to her, one eyebrow raised. “I wasn’t even saying anything.” She drops her head on the table. “You were giving off a general aura of happiness.” 

He smiles. Emma is _not_ a morning person. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Work.”

“Oh,” Azazel whips one head around the door of his bedroom. “Bring back food.” He rolls his eyes. “Are you idiots not capable of feeding yourself without my help?” Janos emerges from the bathroom. A toothbrush hangs from his mouth. He removes it and points it to Erik. “So salty this morning.”

“Be nice, babe. We’re your friends, remember?” Emma pours a mug of coffee. Azazel raids the cupboard for cereal and yelps when Erik pinches him. He bears his teeth. “I don’t do nice.”

Forty minutes later, he walks into the warm bakery. Peter is behind the register, which makes sense. Anyone who puts customer service into the hands of Remy or Wade is irredeemably insane.

“Hey,” Peter says, not looking up from the register. “They’re in the back arguing over donut frosting. Go in there before someone gets charged with murder. And with someone, I mean me.” Erik salutes him and marches to the back.

The kitchen is a mess. There are frosting samples and half-covered donuts everywhere. In the middle of the half-empty batter bowls and pastry bags, Wade and Remy are glaring at each other. “We already have red velvet, pumpkin and Boston cream. I want the fucking galaxy donuts!”

“Vanilla cream strawberry donuts, Remy. Vanilla cream. Strawberry. It’s like Angelina Jolie and Emma Stone had a biologically impossible baby.” Erik really doesn’t want to hear anything that comes out of Wade’s mouth after that.

“What about vanilla cream galaxy?”

They look at each other. Look at Erik. Then, both start to laugh. “Genius,  _mon ami_ ,” Remy says, already eying a mixer bowl. “Wade, you do the cream. I do the frosting.”

“Right,” Erik says. “I’ll just do the donut holes then.” He hauls up his sleeves and gets to work. The only sound in the kitchen is the movement of several appliances and Wade’s continuous chatting.

“Did you know the world record for cupcake eating is 72 in six minutes and was set by Patrick Bertoletti in 2012? What would happen if we’d make hell-themed cupcakes? You think we’d get some sort of riot in front of the shop? Erik hasn’t been to a riot in ages, and I know he misses it like I miss some great Mexican food. Damn, Petey and I should get Mexican tonight, maybe we can even make a whole thing out of it, y’know and-”

“Shut up, Wade.” Erik’s dough-covered hand rises to stop the flood of words. Remy laughs from behind the whisk.

“Always good to have you here, Lehnsherr.”

                                                                                                                    ~

“Raven wants to go out.”

Charles’ voice is getting higher and higher towards the end of his sentence. Erik mentally stifles a laugh and clears his throat. “That can be arranged.”

There’s a frustrated sound at the other end of the line. “You don’t understand. She wants to go to _The Exhibit._ My friends work there.”

“ _My_ friends work there.” Erik starts to panic now, too. If Azazel or Janos see him with Charles his life is over. His pretend boyfriend clearly feels the same. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, bloody buggering fuck. We can’t go. None of my friends know we’re dating.”

“Charles, we’re not actually dating,” Erik’s voice sounds dry and amused. Inside, he ignores the ache those words cause inside his chest. Focuses on the rising panic instead.

“Raven says it’s the only restaurant in the city with a decent menu.” He snorts. “She can’t be picky. She eats your pasta.” Charles makes an offended noise. Erik laughs. “Sorry dear, but it wasn’t five-star haute cuisine.”

“She threatened to burn my thesis if we didn’t go there.” Charles already sounds defeated. Erik groans. “Maybe they’re not working tonight?” He shoots a brief prayer to the heavens. This is gonna be one big shitshow.

A few hours later, he’s in the hallway of Charles’ apartment. He pulls on the hem of his jacket. God, did Raven have to pick such a fancy place? He feels like a mannequin. Very uncomfortable with suddenly coming to life. 

Charles clears his throat. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a gray shirt. His tie is a dark red and just staring at it makes Erik’s mouth dry with- something. Affection, maybe. Lust, definitely. “Are you ready?”

Erik sighs. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They step into the living room. Raven is wearing a gorgeous cobalt blue dress and is tapping away on her phone. “Ah, you’re done smooching. Let’s go, then.”

Charles grabs a dark gray woolen winter coat and throws Erik’s trenchcoat in his direction. It hits him in the chest, accompanied by sparkling blue eyes. They step outside. November air curls around him and he pulls his coat a little bit more around him. A shoulder nudges him and a hand finds his own.  Raven has been in town for ten days and Erik’s still not used to the way Charles’ hand feels wrapped around his own. He swallows. Stares at dark blue fabric on his left and takes a deep breath.

They get into the car -Erik’s car, he is not going to set foot into Charles’ green monstrosity- and it takes them a few awkward glances and some shuffling for them to figure out that Charles is sitting next to Erik. The journey to the restaurant in quiet. Every once in a while, Erik swears under his breath when a car passes him. Raven is humming Lana Del Rey.

When they step into the restaurant, Janos is standing next to the entrance with a tablet in his hands. He turns around. Shit. It’s too late.

“Erik?”

He waves, sheepishly. “Janos. Hey.”

Janos’ eyebrows are so high up his forehead Erik is afraid that they’ll fly off. “What are you doing here?” He makes a gesture down at his suit and then hovers his hand over Charles' shoulder. “I’m here with the boyfriend, of course.”

Janos stares at them. Moves his gaze from Erik to Charles to Raven. Decides he, apparently, doesn’t want to know. “Shall I lead you to your table?”

They settle down around a round table in the corner. “Well, this is cozy,” Charles says. He shrugs off his jacket. “This was a good decision, Raven.” Raven is too busy with glaring at Erik to notice. “Why didn’t your friend know Charles is your boyfriend?”  

He’s suddenly very busy with the buttons on his coat. “We haven’t exactly been shouting it from the rooftops.”

A warm hand lands on his thigh. “You’re the first one who really knows,” Charles finishes with a squeeze. His sister looks satisfied with that answer. They order drinks. Around them glitters a crowd of candles and for a moment Erik lets himself imagine this is a real date. He quickly gulps a bit of his wine to fight the spreading warmth in his chest.

“Hello, my name is Azazel and I will be your waiter for the evening.” Sharp dark eyes fixate on him. Janos has talked, then.

“Hey, Az.”

“Erik. What a surprise,” he says in a tone that means it’s not a surprise at all. “Does your mother already know of this charming new development in your life?” Erik gulps. “No, not yet.” Azazel makes a sound in his throat. “Okay. So, have you guys already decided what you want to eat?” Charles quickly rattles off their order and the rest of the evening turns out uneventful. There are some sarcastic comments from Azazel, but that’s pretty much it. He drops Charles and Raven off and drives back to his apartment.

When he steps inside, three pairs of eyes turn towards him. Judging. He drops his coat. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“You mean you haven’t been dating your crush and forgot to tell us about it?” Emma asks, eyes cold. She’s wrapped in a white bathrobe and Janos used-to-be-white socks. Erik sits down next to her. “No.” He takes a deep breath and tells them the whole story. At the end of it, Janos shakes his head. “You know how this is going to end.”

At the end of it, Janos shakes his head. “You know how this is going to end.”

The worst part is, he’s right. Erik just chooses to ignore him. Maybe it won’t hurt so much, after. When all this has ended. When he’s back to being alone.

                                                                                                                     ~                                                            

When Erik steps into the apartment, Emma is lounging on the white couch.

“Hey,” he grunts, shrugging off his jacket.

She doesn’t say anything. There’s a glass of white wine hanging between her hands. He can just make out a young Heath Ledger grunting something to a floppy-haired Joseph Gordon-Levitt and winces internally. _10 Things I Hate About You_ and wine scream ‘a bad day’ like nothing else. He lifts her legs to make place and sits down. Wraps his arm around her. They sit in silence for a while, nothing but 80’s rock and Julia Stiles’ wit to accompany them.

“That bad, huh?”

Emma downs the last of her wine. “I saw Sebastian today.” She shivers and he makes a sound somewhere deep in his throat. Pulls his arm tighter around her bony shoulder.

“Did he say something?”

She shrugs. Plays with the hem of her white shawl. “He said I looked good. That he’s glad I seem to be such a good student. He saw my grades.” Her lips wobbles.

“Em-”

She puts her pale head on his shoulder. “It freaks me out,” she admits, voice small. “He was there and he was watching me eat. Y’know how he used to be so touchy about food, how he didn’t want me to gain weight and stuff? He was watching me eat the whole time. Fuck, I felt so judged. Like, I wasn’t even eating anything bad. It was soup, for God’s sake.” She takes a shuddering breath. “He kept twisting his ring around his finger. He used to do that before he-” She stops. Breathes in again. Erik squeezes her hand.

“I know,” he says, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She hides her face in his chest, relieved. He stands up. “C’mon,” he says, winking. “This calls for brownies.”

That’s how Janos and Azazel spot them. Erik is mixing something. Emma is belting Taylor Swift at the top of her lungs. “Ah, food,” Azazel says and jumps on the table. “Excellent.”

Erik snorts. “There are leftover donut holes in the fridge.” Janos has opened the fridge in a flash and is munching on three in another. “Hey asshole, leave some for me!”

They wrestle through the kitchen. The box wobbles dangerously in Janos' arms, but Az snatches it before it hits the ground. “Victory!” he crows and promptly stuffs two donut holes in his mouth. Erik looks up from where he’s pouring the batter in a cake tin. Emma is laughing loudly, eyes wide and head thrown back. He feels satisfaction curling somewhere in his chest.

An hour later, they’re all eating brownies and pumpkin donut holes. Janos insisted on them watching his pre-recorded episode of Hell’s Kitchen and Azazel throws bits of cake at the screen every time Gordon Ramsay looks like he wants to kill someone. After Emma has gone to bed, Erik gets them all whiskey.

“Man, you look like you just killed someone in a dark alley or something,” Janos says while breaking his brownie in half to share with Azazel. “Doesn’t he always look like that?” asks Azazel.

“We need to talk.”

Janos takes a sip of whiskey. He looks serious, suddenly. “Is Emma okay?”

“She saw him today.”

They look at each other. “Yeah, we figured,” they say in unison.

Erik throws back a healthy amount of liquor.  “We’re gonna have a conversation with Sebastian Shaw.”

                                                                                                             ~

He runs as fast as his legs can carry him over the dark asphalt. Around him, the yellow streetlights flicker. The whole street would look peaceful if he wasn’t running for his fucking _life_.

He ducks into an alley and looks around him. He lost them, probably. The cops under Sebastian’s influence are usually too stupid to pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel, so the chance that they gave up around hairpin curve number three is big. Now, he really needs to get off the streets.

There’s an oak tree opposite of him. It’s old, with thick branches hanging low so climbing it won’t be difficult. He doesn’t need to think twice. Within minutes, he’s perched on top of a high branch. Watches a cop car circling around the street. Fuck. There’s no way he’s getting home, now.

A window catches the light not far from him. He could make it. It would be a tricky jump, but he could. He grabs the baseball bat from his backpack and smashes the window while jumping. In a flash, he’s in what looks like a bedroom. Blue walls. Books, about biology or something. Papers. Coffee cups. There’s a tweed jacket thrown over a leather desk chair. In the faint streetlight, he can just see its yellow elbow patches.

“What the fuck?” A dark figure sits up in the bed in the left corner.

Erik winces. “Hi, Charles.”

“ _Erik_?” Charles jumps up and light floods over the room. “What happened? Jesus, you’re bleeding. Wait, I’ll get something. Don’t move.” The last sentence is a command laced with steel and worry. Erik obediently stays next to the window. He’s starting to get cold.

Charles runs back into the room with a first aid kit. “C’mon, sit down.” He pats the gray bedding in a clear invitation. Erik walks towards him, careful steps when he notices that moving hurts. He lands with a groan and the first thing Charles does is taking off his sunglasses. 

“Thank fuck you were wearing those,” he says, covering a cloth in antiseptic. "There’s no glass in your eyes.” He starts to pick glass shards out of the numerous scrapes on Erik’s face. His hands are warm and competent, so careful with the tweezers. It doesn’t take long for Erik’s body to pick up on those small, warm touches. Heat blooms under his skin every time a finger as much as brushes it. Charles grabs his chin and starts cleaning his wounds. Erik takes a deep shuddering breath at the feeling of those hands to close to him. At a pose so intimate.

Charles’ face is white. His eyes a bright blue that captures all of his attention. All Erik wants to do is to wrap himself around this man. Never leave. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check.

“Does it hurt?” There’s obvious concern in the way those eyes study him. He shakes his head. “I’ve had worse.” Charles is cutting plasters in pieces. “You want to tell me what happened?” Of course Erik wants to. He would tell him anything, everything.

“Emma had a boyfriend, back in freshman year. He used to be my roommate, that’s how they met.” And doesn’t he still feel guilty about that, sometimes. After a certain amount of whiskey. “The beginning was...normal. They went out, did cute things, all that shit. After a few months, he slowly gained more control over her life. They had been dating for eight months when he became the one who regulated the amount of food she was allowed to eat during the day.” Charles makes a sound. Moves his hand over the skin of Erik’s collarbone.

“He would hit her, too. Has this huge golden ring. The prints were everywhere over her body. He’s left her a few scars.” Erik takes a deep breath. “He was watching Emma eat yesterday. She came home...Jesus, Charles, you should’ve seen her. It was awful.”

“So you beat him up,” Charles says. His hands are now under Erik’s chin. He presses into the touch like a cat. “Yes,” he answers. “He deserves it. Such a pity the police thought different.”

Charles curls one arm around his back and muffles his laugh against his chest. “Yes. How stupid of them.” They sit there for a while. Erik, wanting and trembling inside with needs trampling around in his chest, makes a decision. Somewhere in his chest, there’s a constriction, like someone took his heart in their hand and squeezed.

He breathes in. Deep. “Charles?”

“Hmm?”

Dark hair tickles his neck. He feels like crying. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.” His voice is small. Vulnerable. It feels like he opened his skin and showed all the blood flowing around within him. All his weaknesses. All his strengths. Just, all of _him_ , and Charles took that and made it beautiful. Made him beautiful.

A hand tips up his chin. “When did this start?” Charles asks and oh fuck, that was not the reply Erik was hoping for.

“The first time you sat down at my table.”

At that, Charles throws his head back and laughs. Loud. Erik watches his pale throat move, unsure. Then two hands are back on his face, and they're kissing. Charles is still laughing into it, and Erik has never experienced something so exhilarating in his entire existence.

“We’re such idiots,” Charles says after he’s pulled back. “We could have been doing this for months. Shit, I could’ve introduced you to Raven as my real boyfriend.”

“Does this mean I can introduce you to my mom?” Erik mumbles with his lips mashed to a freckled chin. Charles giggles, almost manic. “Text her tomorrow,” Charles says, his voice dreamy and satisfied. Erik doesn’t think he could ever get sick of the way he sounds when he’s happy.

"Can I stay?" Erik asks. He doesn't mean forever but somewhere, deep under the words, the question hides. Between the lines. He waits, breathless.

“Yeah,” Charles says. “I would like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone thanks for reading :) Kudos and comments much appreciated!!


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